


Vegas Knights

by Darklady



Series: Hornet-verse [7]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/296763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Happens in Vegas....</p><p>Dick wants Bruce. Bruce want's...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts five minutes after Sweet Sixteen.
> 
> SKH requested “Vegas, Siegfried and Roy, the tigers, and lots of brat-spoiling” I think she had in mind sex too, but for some reason this story came out clean. Well - mostly clean.
> 
> I do not own ANY of the characters. DC Comics owns Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson. Siegfried and Roy own themselves and also several tigers. No copyright infringement is intended, and likewise no offense or usurpation of the professional image of Siegfried and Roy, who appear only as a tribute to their well-known efforts towards the preservation of endangered species. No RPS in intended.
> 
> PS: This story was written before – and so predates – certain misfortunes. We may assume that in my universe everyone stayed healthy and happy – including sundry large felines. /meow/

Midnight on the Strip. Flashing signs and headlights brightened the streets for the reveling crowds below, and the clamor of horns and voices filled the air. High above, on the roof of the world famous Warriors Tower, two famous figures crouched unmoving. Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham, and his once-protégée Nightwing.

Solemnly, the young vigilante turned to his cowled companion.

“Want to go back to the party?”

“No.”

“Want to go home?”

“No.”

“Got civvies?”

“I could.”

“Well. Let’s see. We could perch on a rooftop and wait for muggers? Or we could catch a show?”

“Preferences?”

“Hell yes,” the younger man laughed. “I have friends at the Bellagio. Circe de Sole.”

“Of course.” the Bat quipped. “A town full of showgirls and *you* want to go to the circus.”

“Once a carney, always a carney. And what was that about Vegas showgirls?”

“A thing of the past - I swear.”

“I should hope so.”

“They always went for you anyway.”

Nightwing raised one hand in protest of his innocence. “To misquote? I swear I did not have sex with that woman.”

Batman choked back an uncharacteristic snort of disbelief. “And which ONE woman would that be?”

“I’m not the Playboy of Gotham. Didn’t the Inquisitor have you out with Wonder Woman and Poison Ivy – both on the same night?”

“The very thought makes me itch.”

“Well, then” Nightwing gave his companion an accessing look. “As long as you *promise* you wont be tempted. How about doing Vegas?”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

Dick Grayson checked his tie in the bathroom mirror. “I hope Shreck won’t mind our borrowing his apartment.”

“I called.” Bruce Wayne replied. “Shreck said we were welcome.”

“Nice guy.”

“Major deal pending.”

“That too.” Dick picked up his jacket. ”Was that before or after you called Alfred to beam over this monkey suit.”

Bruce looked over his former ward and smiled. “You look very handsome.”

“I look like a waiter.”

“A handsome waiter. Besides, if I keep you out of spandex maybe I can keep you down to earth.”

“Not a chance.”

“Oh well.” The Gotham magnate gave an exaggerated sigh, “Perhaps I should tell Alfred to find the old green pants?”

“Not a chance I’m flying tonight.” Dick laughed. “At least - not like that.”

“So? Bruce?” Dick Grayson gave his companion a wicked grin, “You up for something different tonight?

“We back to the green pants?”

“No. Also no.”

Bruce Wayne raised one eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

That was all the answer the younger man required. With a low chuckle he said, “Follow me.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

The volcano was in mid-eruption when their taxi pulled up in front of the glass-decked entrance of the famous Las Vegas hotel. As the uniformed attendant reached for the door,

They strode through the lobby and up to the atrium, where a grey-haired older man in a tuxedo stood self-importantly at the entrance to the Moongate restaurant. Giving the well dress pair an accessing look, the man asked. “Do you gentlemen have reservations?”

Dick ignored him, reaching over the counter for a note pad and scribbling a few words. ”Take this to Maurice. Tell him the Bird is back.”

“I am not...” the man began, then reconsidered in view of the pairs obvious prosperity. “One minute please.”

The maitre-de picked up the phone and quickly punched a number. “Mr. Maurice? There is a young man here, and he asked me you inform you that...’the bird is back’. Should I? Sir? Yes sir.”

“Mr. Scaforzie. This way, please,” the man said as he quickly guided the duo to the best table.

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

Dick and Bruce were still reading their menus when a instantly recognizable figure strode up to their table.

“Siegfried!” Dick said, rising.

“Greg, darling!” the well built blonde man cried, sweeping the younger man into a warm hug. “And who is your gorgeous friend?”

Bruce Wayne rose, holding out his hand. “Thomas Malone.”

The newcomer shook it enthusiastically. “Together?” he inquired.

“Very much so,” Dick answered, “But I’ll tell Roy you asked.”

“Don’t.” was the laughing response. “The beasts are on a very restricted diet, and Vegas Fairy is NOT on the menu.”

As they were still chatting, a brunette- and equally famous - man entered the room.

“Roy!” Siegfried called out, waving. “You remember Gregor.”

“Oh, yes.” Roy smiled, hugging Dick. “Trapeze. And you used to come over and play with the cats.”

He turned to offer Wayne his hand. “I’ve seen you before? When Greg was flying?”

“Perhaps.” Bruce answered. “I met Gregor here when he was working in Las Vegas. ”

True enough. He hadn’t said that was the first – or only – time he had run into Dick. Or the only name he had known him under. Detection was all in the details.

“For real? Good for you. He’s the type of guy who deserves to get lucky. But mind you - hurt him and you’re toast.”

“So I’ve learned.” Bruce nodded. “You circus types stick together.”

“Damn right.”

Roy gestured them to take their seats, Bruce and Dick did so, but Siegfried shook his head. “Sorry guys. Got to go. Cats to load.”

Roy nodded, “I’ll be down in ten.” Then swung into the chair next to Dick.

He gave the well-dressed pair an accessing look. “You looking for a place?”

“Nope,” the younger man grinned. ”We’ve got a gig.”

“Too bad. You could do real well nowadays. Lots of expansion.”

“Just in town for one night. What’s hot?”

“The Gypsy for dancing. The Bel for the games. Buffalo if you’re into the scene.”

Dick rolled his eyes toward Bruce. “Does it look like I need to shop around?”

“No way.” Roy answered, giving Dick’s companion a very through once over. “If I had him, I wouldn’t leave the house.”

Dick gave Bruce a solemn look and intoned. “Tiger chow.”

Roy laughed, checking his watch. ”To bad you missed the show. Come on back and meet the crew anyway. And your tab is on us.”

“I don't think.” Bruce Wayne began.

“Circus law, Malone.” Dick interrupted. “Never pass up a free meal.”

“Well.” Bruce conceded. “I’d hate to violate an old Gypsy custom. Even one I suspect was just made up.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

They were still saying their goodbyes when a cry broke thru the restaurant babble.

“Roy!” The blonde man ran up, panting.

“Siegfried? What is it?”

“Luna is missing! She was in the van, and now they are both gone. I called security, and the police, but...”

“Luna?” Bruce murmured to Dick.

“Their favorite cat.” he whispered back.

“They called the LVPD over a missing cat?”

“These guy’s cats are white, stripped, and weigh in at 300 pounds. And despite the rumors, the claws are all there.”

“Ouch.” Bruce winced. “And I though Selena was a rough date.”

“Hey Sig.” Dick said, interrupting the two men's frantic conference. “ You said they took the van?”

“Yes, but..”

“You’ve got Lojac, right?”

“Yes, but in this city, with all the tall buildings? The police say they aren't picking up a signal.”

“Let me try something.” Dick said, holding his hand out towards his companion. “Tom - are you carrying our ‘phone’?”

“Don’t leave home without it” Bruce quipped as he handed over the communicator. “Star 3 for home, 2 for Barb, 6 for upstairs.”

“Thanks.” Dick nodded, dialing. Holding the phone to his ears, he begins. “Babs - I need a signal code on a Lojac… van license TIGER3… Nevada.

He frowned as the phone hummed, a jangle of background electronic chatter. In a minute – two at most – the line came back. Dick jumped on the answer.

“Good. Send it up to J’onn.”

He smiled at Bruce as he clicked off the line. Another button, a few seconds wait, and then.

“Officer Jones? It’s me...that’s right...exactly...could you do me a favor? I need a signal trace on a Lojac system. Its not picking up but it should still be active. Our usual source should be sending... good.”

This hum was both louder and sharper.

“Thanks.....I’ll stay active.....”

Dick held the phone up like a signal flag. “OK, guys. The van is on Flamingo, slowed by traffic. You got a fast car?”

“Downstairs.” Siegfried answered. “Roy, you get the gear. I think David came in his Mustang. That’s fast. I’ll get Copperfield's keys, and tell him we’re taking his car.”

Dick looked at Siegfried, then at Bruce. “Let’s go.”

As the two performers raced off, Bruce looked at Dick, “You mean to tell me we are about to go hunting a tiger, on the streets on Las Vegas, in a classic Mustang convertible, with two guys dressed in rhinestones and satin?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well,” Bruce laughed. “You did say different.”

As Dick stood, Bruce held out his hand, “Give me back the ‘phone’. I need to make one more call.”

“Don’t tell me Earl’s got a Bat-Tiger-Trap.”

“Be prepared, Gregor. Always be prepared.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

By the time they reached the car, Roy was waiting.

Bruce looked at the long case resting on the hood. “Rifle?”

“Tranks.” Roy replied. “Better this then how the cops would shoot her.”

“Got the keys.” Siegfried shouted, rushing out of the elevator.

“Good.” Dick snatched them out of Siegfried's hands. He looked questioningly at Bruce.

“No.” Bruce answered Dick, pointing to Roy. “You drive. He'll navigate. Me? Hopefully I’m just along for the ride.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

Dick maneuvered the sports car up the ramp, gaining speed as he merged into traffic. The traffic kept them slow, but since it did the same for the stolen van, that detail made little difference. As long as the signal held, Dick would catch them.

They caught their first glimpse of the fleeing vehicle as they took the on ramp on to Highway 15. Even in town, the multiple lanes of the freeway offered more room for maneuvering, and soon Dick was tucked in behind his quarry.

He looked at Bruce.

“No.” Bruce growled. “Don’t take them yet. Too much of a crowd. Let them buy us some maneuvering room.”

They followed until the traffic cleared at the edge of town. Now only a few headlights cut the night darkness.

“Soon?” Dick asked, dropping back discretely.

Bruce held out his hand. “Roy. Give me the gun.”

Seeing Roy hesitation, Dick interjected. “Trust him. He’s done big game before.”

“For the driver?” Roy gave Tom a nervous look.” I don’t know. These doses are set for tigers. I’ve never used them on a human, and I’m not sure if… I mean, we can’t just shoot humans…”

“No matter.” came the reply. “I’m not aiming at the human.”

“Tire?” Siegfried looked over and shook his head. “ It won’t work. Not a trank dart. Not enough mass.”

“Not with your load.” Bruce reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a single cartridge. “And I’m not aiming at the tires either.”

“Malone,” Roy started, hesitant. “I’m not comfortable with killing...”

“No one’s going to die unless they do something very stupid.” Bruce took the rifle, popping out the tranquilizer dart and loading his own ammunition. “Seatbelts, gentlemen. We may need to move suddenly.”

Dick started his turn signals. “Fifteen seconds” Moving to the right lane, he drew alongside the van, then slowly pulled slightly in front of it.

Resting the barrel on the window ledge, Bruce took careful aim at motor. One shot, astoundingly silent in the still desert night. The vans radiator grill crinkled a bit but did not break.

Bruce handed rifle back to Roy.

They watched amazed as the vans motor coughed, sputtered, and with a fearful clunking clatter finally failed altogether.

Bruce pointed at the approaching off ramp. “Loop around. Time to look helpful.”

Dick took the ramp at full speed, curving around to reinter from the other side. By the time they approached in the opposite direction, the driver was outside and looking frustrated. Another man was standing at the back door, clumsily working the locks.

Dick pulled on to the median. “That all of them, you think?”

“I guess so.” Roy replied. The van only has two seats.”

“Good.” Bruce answered as he surveyed the scene. “You two get ready to grab a tiger while we go *help*.”

Dick was just jumping the concrete divider when the van door sprung open and a white shape leapt out.

“Anything in there?” the van driver called.

“Yeh.” came the answer, almost lost under the loud snarl. “A tiger.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

Under the circumstances, the arrest was almost anti-climatic.

Siegfried snapped a leash onto Luna’s collar, while Dick and Bruce cuffed the two thieves with the performers belts. Roy called the LVPD, who were delighted to learn that they, at least, would not have to try and recapture the stolen tiger.

“Think the police will be mad if we leave them here?”

“You know, if we take the tiger away with us? They’d probably be glad.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

“You saved our Luna.” Roy gushed, ruffling the snowy fur that now occupied most of the back seat. ”I don’t know how to reward you.”

“Not necessary” Bruce insisted from the front seat. “Really.”

“No.” Siegfried insisted. “You came here for fun, and we took you off on a tiger hunt. And you saved our baby. We owe you - and we circus folk always pay our debts.”

“I just want to go back to the hotel and have dinner.” Bruce insisted. “I think I’ve had my excitement for the night. Greg?”

“I’ll pass on the excitement, but dinner sounds real good about now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SKH requested ‘businessman hitting on Dick’ & ‘Bruce jealous’ - but as usual my Muse goes to Crack.

“No, Gregor. We need to do something. To almost lose our baby girl...” Roy hugged the tiger closer and scratched her comfortingly behind one tufted ear. “She’s going to be a mother, you know.”

“We’d offer you a cub,” Siegfried added, “ but.”

“No thanks.” Dick Grayson demurred. “My place has a strict ‘no tigers’ policy.”

Bruce Wayne (or ‘Thomas Malone’, as he was currently introduced) shook his head sadly. “Terrible the way some places discriminate.”

“Isn’t it just,” Dick agreed with a grin.

“Please.” Roy looked beseechingly at his partner. “We absolutely must find some way to show our gratitude..”

“Dinner?” Bruce suggested hopefully.

“Music?” Dick added.

“Humm.” Roy gave it a minute’s thought, then turned to his partner. ”Sig? Dinner and dancing?”

“Someplace reasonably discrete.” Dick added quickly.

“How discrete?” Siegfried asked. “TV preacher or just closet queen.”

“Let’s say senior Senator on a toot.” Bruce replied quickly. ”We don’t want to be tomorrows front page.”

“Performing in Eastern Europe, eh? The Scarlet then.” The blonde man flipped through his card file. “Not my kind of scene, but nice. Private club. Very low key. No leather. Older crowd with bucks. Not young enough to be a ‘hot date’ place, but they do have a nice quiet band. As a member, I can call and get you in.”

“If it’s a private club…”

Dick didn’t know if Bruce was hesitant because he didn’t think Dick would be familiar with that side of the city, or because of the higher risk that – if the place was truly upscale - Bruce would be too familiar. As in, already a known member. Not that Bruce kept much of a social life outside of Gotham – at least not as compared to the pre-Dick days – but an older membership would have longer memories.

“Don’t worry” Roy waved off all potential objections. “You both look respectably over age. Here.” The entertainer pulled a business card from his desk and scribbled a note on the back. “Get whatever you want - it’s all on us.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

By the time the duo reached the lobby doors, a white stretch limo was waiting.

“Discrete.” Bruce muttered.

“Please, Mr. Scaforzie.” The uniformed attendant bowed to Dick as he held open the door. “With the gratitude of the Mirage.”

“Let me guess. Management full of animal lovers?”

“The boss loves them best in their cages. Like – not eating the customers.”

“I see the point.”

“Well, boss is happy not seeing points – like in the points on tiger teeth. So he said you should have the hotel limo.”

“Well, Tom?” “Gregor’ said, stepping back to let his companion proceed him. “I guess we’re stylin’ tonight.”

They driver was impressively professional, sweeping them smoothly through the jammed streets and delivering them within minutes the tastefully lit entrance. The door was indeed red, but so subdued that even Alfred would be hard pressed to call it garish. A small brass plaque besides the door was the only indication of the establishment inside.

Before they could touch the knob, the door swung open.

“Gentlemen” the uniformed doorman greeted them. “Please come in.”

The interior was as tasteful as the entrance had promised. Scarlet carpet, white linen, and tuxedo-clad waiters combined to create an aura of European sophistication.

Bruce gave the room a cautious inspection. “Not the usual club scene.”

“What, no knife wielding bikers for light entertainment?” Dick quipped, not noticing that their entrance had caught almost as many interested looks here as they might have provoked had they appeared at the Solitary Cyclist in dinner jackets.

Bruce smiled at his companion. “You’ll just have to find some way to keep me amused.”

A carefully coiffed man in an elegant black velvet gown inspected the new arrivals carefully, as if somehow gifted with Superman's x-ray vision and thus able to read the labels on their suits. “Mr. Scaforzie. Mr. Malone. Mr. Siegfried told us we might expect you.”

Bruce gave the velvet-clad man a withering look. “So glad not to disappoint.”

A snap brought an extraordinarily pretty young man bustling over. He smiled broadly at the sight of the two men. “Together?”

“Yes.”

“Damn.” Came the instant reply. “Well, then,” the young man said, showing them to a softly lit table overlooking the dance floor and handing over leather bound menus. “I’m Charles, and I guess I’ll just be your waiter tonight. Would you care for drinks?”

“Not just yet.” Dick answered.

“Then I’ll give you a few minutes to decide.”

“Nice suit.” Bruce quipped the moment the waiter was out of earshot.

“Kid should have used spray paint.” Dick replied. “At least then he wouldn’t have to worry about lost circulation.”

“Oh, I bet he circulates plenty.”

“Hey, I thought you promised not to notice.”

“No, I promised not to be tempted.” Bruce ran his fingers tenderly over his partner’s hand. “Believe me, I’m not.”

“Let me check out the wine list. Then you can find out if all those dance lessons you insisted on actually did any good.” Dick opened the menu. “Holy...”

“That high?”

Dick said nothing, just passed the scarlet folder across the table.

“Girlie menus?” Bruce’s eyes widened in amazement at the menu *without* prices. “I thought these were extinct.”

He started to hand it back, but Dick shook his head. “No, that ones yours. You’re my date tonight.”

“I thought I bagged the cat?”

“Really, Tom. Is this the place to squabble over a pussy?”

“Ouch!” Bruce winced at the dreadful pun. “I thought you’d outgrown that sort of humor.”

“Call it nostalgia. And you were the one asking for the green pants.”

The moment the menus closed, their waiter was back at their side.

“Ready, gentlemen?”

Bruce nodded at Dick. “Why don’t you order for the two of us?”

“You are such a traditionalist,” Dick teased as he complied.

Bruce delayed until the waiter was gone before countering. “Alfred would have it no other way. So. If I'm your date – by tradition shouldn't you ask *me* to dance?”

Moving out to the dance floor, they glided together, then bumped noses as they both moved forward simultaneously.

“Now I know why you always want to stay in on Valentines Day.” Dick whispered.

“Brat. I always knew you’d want to lead.”

“I’m flexible.”

“You’re incredible. Now if you'd only learn to dance backwards.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

The arrival of their wine drew them back to their table.

“Sorry, ‘Tom’. Be back in a minute.”

No sooner had Dick vanished then another waiter arrived, bearing a bottle of champagne.

“From the man at the third table.”

“Thank the gentleman, but… no thanks.”

A tall Asian man in a flashy Italian suit rose from where he sat alone and came over.

“Hi handsome.” he smiles, stepping very close. “I’m Eddie Cha. Care to dance?”

“Thomas Malone.” Bruce replied, staying in his seat. “Thank you for the kind gesture, but I’m afraid we can not accept.”

“Don’t be. Afraid, I mean. I don’t know what your circus star friend is offering, but I bet I can match it.”

“Unlikely.”

“Hey. How do you know till you give me a chance?”

“Because I know him.”

“But you don’t know me.” The man retorted, placing a hand on Bruce's shoulder. ”Not yet.”

“True enough,” Bruce answered with a glance cold enough to send the trespassing hand scurrying back to safer territory, “but I think my friend would prefer that I keep it that way.”

“Jealous type? He has reason to be. Your hot, you know that?”

“Thank you, but...”

“Hey, take my card. Think it over, handsome.”

Dick walked up as the newcomer was laying his card on the table.

“Tom?”

“Mr. Cha here was just propositioning me, I believe.”

“Really?” Dick’s lips parted to show several teeth.

“He thinks you might be the jealous type.”

“He’s right.” Dick answered, reclaiming his seat.

“Good.”

Bruce watched with satisfaction as the trespasser retreated under Dick’s withering glare.

“I thought your friends said this wasn’t a meat market.”

“Obviously, that for a given value of meet – or should I say meat.” Dick smiled. “You won’t believe the scene in the bathroom.”

“Well, there is a reason I never did the club scene.”

“Not like that - exactly. The place is pretty discrete. Although I bet there some interesting action upstairs.” Dick pulled out another card and dropped it by the one on the table. “No, this is more of an auction thing. I’m washing my hands and this guy comes out with a proposition. Point blank.”

“As long as that's all that came out.”

“This places exchanges more business cards then the real estate room at the Gotham Founders Club.”

Bruce picked up the second card. “Victor Chadwick? I’ve heard of the man. Don’t know him by sight, obviously. Still. I must complement his taste.”

“Must you?”

“Of course.” Bruce tossed the card back on the table. “It so matches my own.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

The band had switched to soft jazz, and the gentle rhythms had drawn many couples out onto the dance floor, Dick and Bruce among them. As they spun slowly to the melody, Dick sighed and drew his partner still closer.

Bruce froze, and a bit of the Bat flared in his eyes.

“Problem?” Dick asked.

“Unless that hand was after my wallet, I’d say some people lack faith in the power of champagne.”

“You too?”

“You?”

“A few minutes back. That's why I lead us over here.”

Bruce cast a tactical glance over the increasingly crowded dance floor. “Maybe we should just eat.”

As Dick settled into his seat, Bruce murmured. “Excuse me a moment.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

Straightening his tie in the mirror, Bruce observed a well dress black man take a spot at the sink to his right. From the careful movements, the man had been drinking more then champagne.

“Who’s the daddy?” he slurred.

“Excuse me?”

The stranger’s blurry look was blatantly accessing. “I was watching you two from the bar, but frankly I can’t figure out who’s keeping who. You’re older, but with your looks? I figure your still at the top of the game. So, he buying? Or are you?”

“I gather we can exclude the concept of mutual affection?” Bruce replied stiffly.

The other man smiled cynically. ““Along with little green men and honest politicians.”

“If I said he was?”

“Then I’d put in a bid.”

“And if I was?”

“Then I can still give you a sweeter deal.” Fumbling out a business card, the stranger tucked it into Bruce’s vest. “ He's cute, I dig. But I could be a lot better to you long term.”

“Really.”

“Give it some thought. It might be time for you to trade up.”

“It might be time for you to *sober* up.” Bruce replied. “Give that some thought, before you annoy someone less polite then myself.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

“You are so right about the bathroom.” Bruce said as he spun another card onto the able.

“Another admirer?” Dick asked, picked up the embossed pasteboard. “You do have a way of getting into trouble in bars.”

“And this time I didn’t even pack my leathers. Either set.”

“Ghod.” Dick shook his head. ”That's a thought. And here you told me it was your politics that started that bar fight.

“That one, yes.” Bruce held up one hand in mock-defense as he slipped back into his seat. “This bunch doesn’t seem the type to stick me in the back.

“Not with a knife.”

“Yes, there is that.”

“You really want to eat here?”

Bruce took a last sip from his glass. “No one’s food is that good.”

“Come on.” Dick said, dropping a few bills on the table. ”Let’s go before I have to defend your honor."

Bruce began to rise, then stopped. “Christ. Eli Williams,“ he read, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “I just remembered. I’m due to meet with the Williams Technology Group next month.”

“Some fun.”

“He said he’d give me a good deal.”

“I don’t think electronics subcontracting is exactly what he had in mind.”

“No” Bruce laughed. “But… I’m imagining the look on his face when he walks into WayneTech.”

“I’ll remind Shondra to put your picture up in the lobby.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offense to any past or current hotel or entertainment impresarios. (Cause that could be… Unhealthy. LOL) Bonus points if you can guess the media origin of Roco Morrone.

“Where to?” the driver asked as ‘Gregor Scaforzie’ and ‘Thomas Malone’ settled back into their gift limo.

“Someplace with dinner.” Dick leaned back into the soft leather upholstery.

The man gave a careful look, taking in his passenger’s flawlessly tailored dinner suits. “Venetian’s is supposed to have the ‘class’ market.”

“Somewhere has to.” Bruce muttered to Dick. “I am never letting you talk me into an *adventure* like that again!”

“Does that means you wont be hitting the pool tournament at the Solitary Cyclist?”

“Please.” Bruce growled. “We get more respect at Jimmy's so-called leather joint then we did here.”

“That’s cause they all want to play with your cue.”

“Not a chance. Only you get to play with my cue.”

“Yeh?” Dick drawled. “Then why is Bob always offering to rack your balls?”

“I never once took him up on the offer.”

“I should hope not.”

“Gents?” The driver looked back. “I need an answer? Cause the strip doesn’t have a drive-thru.”

“OK.” Dick answered, giving the man the thumbs up. “The V it is.”

^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^) ^^V^^ (^V^)

“You’re finished for the night.” Dick slipped the limo driver a very large tip as the man held the door for his passengers.

“You’re sure?”

“Our hotel.” Dick fibbed. That was the one answer guaranteed to get no argument. Bruce was clearly not enjoying the ‘luxury’ - or rather the attention it attracted. Dick couldn’t care less how they got around town, but he did care about his plans for enjoying Bruce Wayne. Plans that did not work well with Bruce hungry and grumpy. And who knew? There was always the possibility he could be telling the truth.

The entrance to the Venetian was the usual garish expanse of neon and glass, although some designer had obviously tried to move ‘upscale’ by adding bits of concrete sculpture and wrought iron to the supposed Piazza. It was pretty, but hardly enough to lead even the most obtuse to confuse the rows of blinking slot machines for the twisting alleys of old Italy.

As the two men strolled through the mock-gothic lobby, Dick’s eye was caught by the bobbing gondolas moored by the rather Disneyesque canal.

“Do you think?” He asked, making ‘puppy-dog-eyes’ at his companion.

“OK, brat.” Bruce capitulated instantly. “As long as it goes to a restaurant.”

“Taxi?” Dick quipped as he slipped the gondolier a hundred dollar bill. “To the food - and step on it.” He grinned at Bruce, who was now sprawled on the cushions in the other end. “Gotta love the Vegas version. So much closer to home then the real thing.”

Bruce patted the seat beside him and moved over, indicating Dick should join him. “It smells better too.”

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After a short ride through ‘Venice’, the gondolier let them off at Postrio’s. The fashionable cafe’s brick-floored patio thrust out over the ‘Grand Canal’, with tables tucked carefully among the faux foliage well designed for people watching on the waterway below. Dick checked over the room as they walked around to the entrance. It was getting late, but the elegant establishment was still packed. This was Vegas, after all - the town that never sleeps.

“Do you gentlemen have reservations?” The young lady at the podium asked with a telling glance at the line of waiting diners.

Dick simply produced another bill.

“Oh, yes, I see your names now.”

“Do you think you could find a quiet table?” Bruce asked. “ Somewhere we won’t be disturbed?”

“Why…” she made a show of checking her list. “Yes Sir, that’s exactly where I had you booked.”

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The pair found themselves quickly seated at a comfortable table for two shielded by potted trees. An efficient waitress had brought their drinks and taken their orders, and they were finally beginning to relax in the atmosphere of casual luxury the restaurant has been so carefully designed to convey. Dick was inventing elaborate and increasingly improbable histories for the more ‘interesting’ tourists that passed below them on the gondolas. Bruce was countering that with equally wild, and quite probably true, observations on the dinners at the other tables. Neither paid any real attention to the cocktail waitress and her cart until she actually stopped at their table.

“Mr. Wayne?” The scantly clad young lady asked, holding up the bottle of champagne. “ A gift from the gentlemen at table six.” As she spoke a man at the indicated table stood and started to make his way over. He was tall, blond, and frankly handsome in an open-faced middle-American way,

Bruce shook his head and moaned “Not again.”

But yes, Dick could see it was – indeed – happening again.

“Mr. Wayne? Bruce Wayne?” The young man said, holding out his hand. “I’m Tom Campbell? Of the Campbell Radio Group?” As the man spoke, his rolling tones became increasingly familiar.

Bruce extended his own hand. As he did so the blond man’s identity snapped into focus. “Coast-to-Coast Evening News?”

“Exactly.” The popular newscaster said, smiling wide enough to show off an impressive display of orthodontia. “I knew I recognized you. We spoke last June.”

“Yes, I remember, The Radio and Television Broadcasters Association Convention and Trade Show.”

“Exactly. My colleagues and myself just wanted to welcome you to the Coast City Broadcasting Family. Now that you own a station in our area....”

“Not ownership.” Bruce Wayne demurred. “Merely an interest.”

“A major interest.” The young man corrected. “Which we welcome. We have a major interest in quality broadcasting for the entire Coast City area, as I’m sure you do, and now that you’re one of us? Well, we wanted to take this chance to say hello. Get acquainted. Welcome you to the neighborhood, as it were...”

“Thank you” Bruce interrupted the flow of words. “That’s very kind. Now...”

“Perhaps we could spend some time going over the Coast broadcast issues.” Campbell picked up, apparently without a breath. “Tomorrow, perhaps? I could take you out for lunch, and...”

Bruce held up his hand. “A wonderful idea but I’m afraid I’m only in town for the one night.”

“No problem.” The blond man smiled, reaching for a chair. “We can talk now. My guests will understand.”

“So forbearing of them.” Bruce clamped the chair back in a grip of iron, holding it motionless. “ But I fear my guest will not.”

Tom Campbell gave Dick Grayson his most ingratiating look. He might as well have been scowling, for all the softening effect it had on the younger mans granite countenance. “Oh well, then perhaps... later tonight?”

Dick added more ice to his glare.

“Well...”

“You have a card?” Bruce mercifully intervened.

Campbell fumbled a bit, but produced one.

“Thank you.” Bruce said, plucking the card from now-nervous fingers. “I’ll give you a call. We’ll set a date the next time I get to the Coast.”

The blond man gave Dick one last careful look, then stuttered. “Sure thing, Mr.Wayne. Let’s do that.”

“Really, Bruce.” Dick shot a last look at the blond intruders departing back. “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Maybe we should just to go home.”

“Must we?” Not that he didn’t understand Bruce’s frustration, but they so seldom managed a social evening that didn’t include ‘society’, society meaning Gotham and the cult of Wayne, and Dick had been enjoying the exotic idea of Bruce as his date.

Bruce was reaching for his wallet when the waitress came up with a tray - and two plates. As she placed them on the table, the odor of mozzarella and basil reminded the pair just *how* long it had been since lunch.

Eyes locked, they answered in unison. “After dinner!”

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They had just taken their first satisfying bites when a heavy-set man in sharp-collared pin-stripes strode up to their table.

“Wayne. Bruce Wayne.”

“Roco Moronne. Hello. ”

“Shreck mentioned that he thought youse was in town, so when I saw you, I figured this might be a good time to get together...”

“Have you meet Mr. Gregor Scaforzie.”

“Scaforzie... yeh.” Moronne held out one beefy hand “I remember you. Flyer. Had a show back a while.”

“Mr. Moronne.” Dick answered politely, rising to accept the handshake.

“Glad to see you too. I was just last week talking to Angelo about some new shows, and your name come up. I was thinking I should maybe give you a call.”

Dick reclaimed his seat as Moronne gave the pair a calculating look. “I own the Bigtop-Bigtop, here in town, and I was thinking we should get together sometime. Now I’m thinking maybe even like all three of us.

“I don’t know that Mr. Wayne....”

“Seein’ you two together....? There were rumors, but.... I thought all that talk was just *Talk*. Still, Wayne, if youse are goin’ to use your Haley's connection to set up a prime time Circus special? I’m thinking the Big-Top ought to be in on it.”

“A prime time Circus special?” Bruce smiled blandly. “What ever gave you that idea?”

“I ain't blind, Wayne. Scaforzie here is all the sudden back here in Vegas. Two hours back he was with the tiger guys. Then he vanishes, and they’re seen talking to Copperfield. Now he’s here with you - the newest station owner on the Coast - and that Campbell fellow. And the chickie at the desk said how you asked for a *quiet* table.” Moronne gave the pair a smug look. “What else *is* there to think?”

“But of course. We ask for a quiet table. Alone. We must have a secret business deal.” Bruce shrugged. “What other motivation could we possibly have?”

“Exactly!” Moronne nodded. “ So, what do youse guys have to say?”

“I am impressed, Mr. Moronne.” Bruce answered slowly. “ I admit, I had not considered that anyone would reach your... conclusions.”

“Hey, I may not be one of dem Ivy League fancy types, but I know my town. So.” Moronne pulled up a chair. ”Are ya going to deal me in?”

“On a Big Top-Big Top/ Haley's Television special?” Bruce looked at Dick, who shrugged *why not?* “Well.” Bruce stroked his chin. “I would have to consult with my partner... but...”

“Don't give me dat partner bit. Haley's the art. Everyone knows you’re da money man.”

“Really?” Bruce smiled politely. “As I was saying? I can see where, with you backing it, a prime time Circus special could work.”

“Good. So I was thinking....”

Desperation lurking deep in his eyes, Bruce stealthily reached down and set off the audible buzzer on his phone.

Snatching the cell phone from his pocket, he flipped open the case and pretended to listen intently. “Sorry, Moronne. Emergency call from my Japanese commodities broker. You understand. We’ll have to deal with this later.”

“Sure thing, Wayne. But you better give me that call. And don’t think you can forget we spoke first.”

“Absolutely.” Bruce said as he rose quickly to his feet. “I swear… I wont forget this meeting for a minute.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dannell (of blessed memory) asked for ‘desert on the balcony’ - so that’s what she gets!
> 
> What does Bruce get? Not dinner.
> 
> Sadly – still clean.

“What about the buffet?” Dick asked as they wove their way through the throngs of tourists streaming from the Casino showroom. It wasn’t exactly romantic – but it wasn’t bad food. He’d once lived on line leftovers for months.

Bruce paused to check out the length of the line, and was almost trampled by a young lady in full white bridal finery and her taffeta-clad attendants.

“OK, Forget that”, Dick shouted as he stepped back to let six groomsmen in purple tuxedos pass. “How about room service?”

The bride jumped onto a stool, almost tumbling over the dessert display. Her bridesmaids circled around her screaming, nearly forcing Bruce into a roulette table in the process. He ducked quickly under a pink-gloved arm and maneuvered his way over to where Dick was pinned behind two flower girls and the groom.

“What about going back to Gotham?” Bruce called over as the ribbon-decked bundle flew past his shoulder.

“And leave Tim?” Dick snatched the bouquet– which had landed on his head like a guided ribbon missile - and quickly handed it to the nearest bridesmaid. “It’s not even two yet. I guarantee you that party's still going strong. Although, if you want to, I suppose we could trust Gardner to keep an eye on the kid.”

“Please!” Bruce growled, giving Dick the *bat* look* as they both pressed against a hot pretzel stand to let the now cheering bridal party stampeded past.

“Well, then?” Dick asked, looking across the casino floor to the registration desk. “Do I check us in and call for room service?”

“You think Roco wouldn’t be two minutes behind the waiter? Hell, with my luck he’d probably be the waiter.”

“Here.’ Dick smiled, handing the pretzel vendor a five and selecting two of his snacks. “You can have the unsalted one.”

“Thanks.” Bruce took a large bite. “Let’s just head back to Shreck’s. OK? The concierge should know someplace that delivers.”

“Pizza?”

“Chinese.”

“MooShu?”

“Shrimp. Not pork.”

“And Black Pepper Chicken.” Dick grinned. “Works for me.”

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By the time they had finished their pretzels, the crowd had diminished somewhat. Not much below mob level, granted, but it was now possible for the two men to make their way across the casino floor with only a moderate need for evasive maneuvers. They were almost back at the main entrance when Dick stopped suddenly.

“Bruce?” Dick patted his pockets. “Do you have a quarter on you?”

“Why?”

“For the machines!” A nod indicated the rows of brightly colored slots lined up behind them. “It’s bad karma to leave Vegas without trying your luck.”

“Trust me, brat.” Bruce replied. “I’ve *been* trying. And so far I haven't gotten lucky at all.”

Dick's grin became wicked. “That could change.”

“I live in hope.”

“I can practically guarantee it.” Dick reached over and gave his partner’s hand a quick squeeze. “But first...the quarter?”

“Here.” Bruce muttered, pulling a single note from his billfold.

“High roller, are you?” The blue-eyed young man gestured at the machines. “Pick one.”

“What does it matter? The house percentage on such things effectively guarantees...”

“Yes. Bruce. I *can* do the math. But this is Vegas. So...” Dick’s voice became insistent. “Just pick one.”

“If you insist. But then we go eat.” Bruce stepped over to the far end of the first row. An elderly lady in rhinestone-decorated sweats was working the first machine, but otherwise that small section was empty.

“Excuse me ma’am.”

The grandmother clutched her tub of nickels. ”This is my machine.”

“Understood.” Bruce nodded. “I’ll take the one to your right.”

“Risking the quarter slots? You are feeling flush.” Dick slipped the dollar in the bill slot and punched four buttons for ‘full play’. “Pull the handle.”

Bruce reached for the start button.

“No, Bruce.” Dick stopped him. “You have to pull the leaver.”

“The button will also…”

“I know , Bruce.” Dick explained in a voice expressing infinite patience. ”But this is for luck. So pull the handle.”

“The things I do for you,” Bruce grumbled as he grabbed the red shaft and gave it a quick pull. “Now can we go?”

Bruce had already taken one step away when the sirens began. Also flashing lights, and bells, and the clanging of uncounted coins spewing from the machine into the metal tray below. And screaming. Lots of happy screaming.

Jumping down from her stool, they little old lady tackled Bruce with a wide hug. “You won!”

“Holy ..” Dick stared at the falling coins, then at Bruce.

Bruce gave Dick an almost panicked glance as the commotion quickly drew an ever-growing crowd of gamers and looky-loos to cluster around them. They were cheering, and chattering, and the grandmother had begun leading the crowd in a chant of ‘Jackpot!’

Out of the corner of his eye Bruce spotted the blue-suited representatives of the Casino approaching. Only one way out. Moving at cobra speed, Bruce grabbed the grey-haired lady, kissed her cheek, and shouted “Congratulations, You won! “ as he pushed her into the path of the oncoming floor manager.

With the crowds’ attention focused on the new ‘winner’, the Bat vanished.

Dick caught up with Bruce just outside the Casino doors.

“Different, you said.”

Dick could not help but grin at the put-upon expression on that beloved face. “I bet granny thought it was.”

“Please” Bruce groaned. “Do not say *bet*” Turning to survey the street lined with illuminated restaurant signs, he added. “You know, the worst part is...I’m still hungry.”

‘Hey.” Dick pointed across the street at a particularly garish red-and-yellow display. “That one’s Chinese. What would you say to us picking up dinner and grabbing a taxi back to Schreck’s?”

“You’re on, kid. Just remember the extra egg rolls.”

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Dick paid the driver as Bruce collected the large paper bag of little white cartons from the trunk of the cab.

“Sure you got enough?” Bruce quipped as he balanced the heavy bag, careful not to strain the slightly damp bottom. The last thing he wanted now was an accident.

“Something else you want?”

“Upstairs.”

Dick pushed the buzzer, but the doorman was nowhere to be seen. “You have the key?”

“Of course.” Bruce answered, balancing the bag on one hip as he searched through his pocket.

“Well, then.” Dick spun about, spreading his arms to encompass the universe. ” Hot Chinese, cool breezes, good company... life is good. I wonder if Shreck left the jacuzzi filled?”

“If he did?” Bruce answered, handing they key to his companion, “I might decide to like Vegas after all.”

Still no doorman? Oh well, Dick thought, trying the key in the slightly stiff lock. At least they had picked up the Chinese food first. Much better then having their dinner delivery depend on some bozo who was probably sacked our in the back room watching old Mannix re-runs. Besides, the sooner they ate, the sooner he and Bruce could get to bed. Maybe even to sleep. It had been a long day, and even if Dick didn’t have to be at the police station until his 3 PM shift, he realized it would still be smart to get some sack time.

Bruce was thinking much the same thing, although he had already decided to move his 10:30 breakfast meeting with Finance over to the ‘let Fox do it’ list. Now he was analyzing exactly how much it would set back the program if he did the same with R&D at noon. Also running through the names of up and coming junior executives with the tech savvy to not bungle matters too badly if deputized on short notice.

Under the circumstances, both men were just a bit slow picking up on the slight movement starting in the bushes to their right.

The first of the two unsavory looking men managed to get within ten feet before Bruce looked up. “Dick?” Bruce said quietly.

Dick turned to see another man, one apparently even less fond of regular hygiene, step out to join the first. “Muggers?” Dick pocketed the keys and stepped slowly away from the door.

The first man whipped out a knife and flicked it in Dick Grayson’s general direction. The other stepped closer to Bruce, clenching his fists and striving to look mean.

Dick shook his head sadly. “Oh, you guys really *so* do not want to do this.”

“Cummon.” The one nearer Bruce snarled. “ Gimme the wallet. What you watin’ for?”

Bruce took a firmer grasp on the dinner bag. “For Gregor here to defend my honor.”

“What ta...” the second punk growled at Dick, stepping closer and thrusting a beefy fist in the general area of Dick’s chest. “ You. Gimmie yer cash.”

“Me?” Dick looked at Bruce, apparently ignoring the muggers.

“I’m holding the food, *Greg*” Bruce pointed out reasonably.

“Good point, *Tom*.” Dick shifted position slightly. “But if I get the suit ruined, you explain to Alfred.”

“Hey.” the knife-man protested, again waving his weapon at Dick. ”I ‘m runnin this. Gimme the cash now or...”

The remainder of his statement was lost in a sudden “Ooofff”, as Dick’s boot impacted with the would-be crook’s rather flabby abdomen. A simultaneous karate chop caught the other mugger under the jaw, effectively closing his windpipe for long enough to make future breathing a debatable skill.

Bruce looked at the two men now twitching on the cement. “Nice move.”

Dick watched a moment to be certain both were breathing, however painfully, then shrugged. “I think I tore my pants.

“That's OK. You won’t need them soon.”

Dick turned back to the door. A nervous looking bellman was clutching the doorknob from the other side.

“Would you call the police?” Bruce asked politely. “I’m sure the apartment management will be delighted to learn how you stopped these two would-be intruders as they tried to assault two guests.”

Dick passed the man a bill. “And Shreck’s apartment? It’s empty.”

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Bruce reached for the last egg roll. “Quite an evening.”

“I did promise something different.” Dick bit the corner off of the last fortune cookie and leaned back into the soft cushions of the double-wide lounge chair. From balcony height the lights of the strip were no longer garish, and the stars above echoed the city shine with equal brilliance.

“Different is right.” Bruce chuckled. “You do know how to show a guy a good time, Gregor Scaforzie. I’ll have to let you take me out more often.”

“That depends.” Dick turned on his side to gaze over at Bruce.

Bruce wiped his hands and dropped the last white carton into the trash. “Oh?”

“After all this dating.” Dick smiled, “Think I’m going to get a good night kiss?

Bruce held up his hands in mock ignorance. “Your date.” he reminded his companion. “You make the moves.”

“Good.” Dick patted the wide lounge cushion. “Then move over here.”

“Gladly.”

Bruce eased down on the empty half of the chair, sliding until he was face to face with his lover and friend. Just before their lips met, he whispered “With you, it’s always different.”


	5. Chapter 5

The wicker lounge chair creaked loudly as the pair on it moved closer together, lips locked and tongues thrusting in the opening moves of a long familiar yet ever-fresh kata. Questing hands pushed aside disregarded finery as they hunted relentlessly for long desired skin. Sweat slick limbs twined and teased as two heroes rolled together, only slowing when the high squeal of stressed metal warned on impending collapse.

Lounge chairs really were not built for the weight of two men. Especially two men as well muscled - and thus as heavy - as the various members of the ‘super hero’ community tended to be. Most especially when those two men were inclined to engage in serious gymnastics. When those gymnastics were of the nature and athleticism that Batman and Nightwing could achieve in their more ‘physical’ moods? Alfred's severe disapproval at the occurrence of damaged furniture had long since taught both men the virtue of dojo-strength practice mats.

Not that there were any such things to be found in Shreck’s Vegas condo. Dick Grayson was seriously debating a move to the bedroom - or the floor - when he felt a sudden vibration against the inside of his thigh.

“Is that your phone?” Dick whispered against the warm lips now hovering just above his own. “ Or are you back into toys?”

“Damn!” Bruce muttered as he reached down for the phone, but Dick had the advantage of position and claimed the unit first.

“Who?” Dick tensed, then at the first calm tones from the other ends relaxed. ”Oh, Robin. What do you need?” Still listening, Dick shifted up a bit to rest against the cushions. Much more comfortable, and it also moved the phone a bit farther from a certain over perceptive pair of pointy ears. ”OK. No problem. You know who to call if ... OK.. I trust your judgment.”

Bruce held out his hand for the phone.

Dick grinned, but only scrunched back further out of range. “I know where he is. I’ll tell him. Understood. Check in when you get back to Gotham.”

“Robin?” The Dark Knight’s gaze flickered behind a pair of sea-blue eyes. “Trouble?”

“Not for us.” Dick answered, finally surrendering the now disconnected phone. “Party's breaking up, but Tim wants to take a few of his Young Justice friends desert driving to check out the Redbird.”

“Sensible,” the Bat approved. “The team should learn its parameters before trusting it in combat.”

“That too.” Dick wiggled back into his previous comfort. “Although I suspect the sound system is getting the big test tonight.”

“That was installed for crowd control.” Batman's voice was stern with sudden rebuke.

Dick laughed and dropped a kiss on a pair of now scowling lips. “And knowing teens? He’ll have a crowd.

“Perhaps I should?”

“Your choice.” Dick agreed, busy fingers popping the last few studs from the Gotham fashion-plate’s already-rumpled dress shirt. “You can beam over to the red rocks and watch the kid practice s-curves on the sand. Or?” Dick finished the sentence not with words but with a series of kisses that began on a granite-firm chin and ended somewhere lower and *far* more interesting. Although, Dick thought to himself, just as firm.

“Like I’ve told you – at some point you have to decide if what you want is sidekicks or partners. Sidekicks you watch. Partners you trust. That last, I know is not always your style – but it’s something you’ve said you want. So it’s your choice. If you want partners? Well, there are always risks but there are also benefits. Question is - how much do you want those benefits?”

“Tim's a smart kid.” Bruce’s voice caught a bit as he felt the button at his waist give way.

“True.” Dick’s tongue explored the now exposed navel. First briefly, then with the through concentration so often evident in the cave-trained, he sought out every sensitive nerve.

“Very sensible.” Bruce gasped, hips thrusting up in unspoken encouragement.

“Absolutely.” Dick slid down Bruce's zipper to release the swelling column of blushing flesh.

“A team...ohh... leader.” Bruce stifled a moan as he felt a brief chill, then a deeper warmth as firm lips brushed against the ruby head. Dick could hear the faster rushing of Bruce's pulse as his ear rested against one iron muscled thigh. Not fast enough, but Dick could work on that.

“He is indeed.” Dick's tongue circled the purpled head, brushing lightly across the tip as his hands reached deeper to capture the hard planes of Bruce's ass. Taking control, Dick guided Bruce’s cock deeper into his throat until the young man’s nose brushed against sable hair.

“I suppose...uhh... I *should* trust Tim to handle his own people.”

“So?” The word was almost lost, muffled as it was against throbbing flesh. “What should we do?” Dick's hands slid across his lovers ass until one long finger was close enough to just brush the tight opening and stroke down the tender curves of Bruce's swollen balls. A light brush, then deeper, then back up between the firm curves of Bruce’s ass. Down again, and circling, the first gentle pressure demanding an entrance.

Strong hands reached down, clamping Dick’s wide shoulders with a force just short of bruising. ”Come here.” Bruce said.

Dick released the weeping cock with a final kiss and slid up Bruce’s now rigid body, nibbling as he went. Arms locked, legs linked, they tumbled together onto the rug-strewn floor of the tree-screened balcony.

Passion hardened lips met, and just before Dick gave himself up to the demanding tongue he whispered, “Good choice!”

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*Not really the End*

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©KKR 2011


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